


Sticks and stones may break my bones (but you will break my patience)

by notveryhandy



Series: Whoops you died! [6]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen, Mentioned Romana (Doctor Who), Mentioned The Doctor (Doctor Who)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23633197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notveryhandy/pseuds/notveryhandy
Summary: Life rarely succeeds in being a fairytale. The question is, who’s the monster?
Relationships: Irving Braxiatel & The Master
Series: Whoops you died! [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712161
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Sticks and stones may break my bones (but you will break my patience)

She stood up, lungs burning and hearts beating unnaturally fast. Nausea rose in her throat, and she doubled over, dropping to the floor yet again. Now was not a good time to be her body. Or alive. Death might be more fun than her cracked lips and shallow breaths, than the horror and fear lurching up from her stomach.

From the grassy ground she couldn’t see much, but a few metres to her left lay an oddly familiar device. What had just...

The last few who-knew-how-long events were blank. Nothing. That would suggest either a mind wipe or, perhaps, a meeting with some other regeneration.

It certainly explained the broken laser lying next to her. She staggered over to the nearest tree, and leaned against it, so as not to fall over again. Picking up the screwdriver, she racked her brain, trying to figure out how to fix it. If she did, maybe she could... 

No, it was probably a better idea to use the vortex manipulator she always carried with her. Cheap and nasty, yes, but effective. Pulling her only way out from her hair, she looked at it in dismay. Where was there left to go?

* * *

Gallifrey. Gallifrey, it turned out, was the only place to go when everything went to hell. She fiddled with the battered laser in her hand, and winced. It might have been messed with, but it was still incredibly painful. Not capable of permanent death, thank the gods.

Where exactly was she, though? The red sands below her neatly answered that question. A desert, then. She looked around again. So much looking around, recently.

On the horizon, the vague silhouette of... of... oh, fucking hell. She’d been injured in the body, not the brain! She should be able to _think._

Barn. It was a barn, familiar and lonely, lingering just out of reach. Standing up, skirts ruffled and torn, she staggered towards it.

 _This is going to be fun,_ she thought as sarcastically as possible, even though nobody would hear it. A long journey was ahead of her, with nothing but her own biting comments to keep her company.

It just wasn’t as enjoyable when you abandoned your sense of drama.

* * *

The barn was not, thankfully, a mirage, but that didn’t make dragging a half-dead body through miles upon miles of sand any more entertaining, did it? She almost thought that the barn was mocking her, but she reminded herself that inanimate objects didn’t talk back. After all, they were - well, inanimate.

Except for that one time - no, never mind. When she finally, finally reached her destination, she was exhausted, dirty and bleeding red and gold. The scent of artron energy - simultaneously sweet and bitter, there and not - filled the air, like breathing Time itself.

She wrenched the door open viciously. No need to be gentle when she could barely see straight; the door could be fixed later. Stepping in, she lurched into the lonely room. The Doctor’s childhood home, or so they said. _Doctor._ That name sounded familiar.

She gazed around. The barn, as it turned out, had visitors.

* * *

“Amira! Get away from that _fool_ of a Time Lord immediately!”

Irving Braxiatel was not the sort to insult people at random, but when it was your brother’s ex, well, one could spare a scathing remark or two. “And don’t say it’s not you, Missy. We have records.”

The dying Time Lord glared. “Time... Lady... please,” she said weakly. “I have standards.”

Brax almost burst out laughing, but came to the conclusion that cackling was not suitably dignified. “Your _standards,_ my dear,” he began, “went down the drain as soon as you were born.”

”I didn’t... crawl out of the looms... staring at Thete,” she gasped out. “Seriously.”

Brax refrained from sniggering for the second time that day. “Could we have some proof to back up that claim? And do you need a hand? You look a little dead.”

“Fuck you,” she hissed, dragging herself into an indignant and less embarrassing position. “But, well... yes. I suppose.”

Brax indulged himself in a smirk. “Amira, there’s no need to hide behind me. She’s not dangerous at the moment.”

The little girl Missy had first seen blinked and stepped out cautiously. Missy glared at her, too, before turning to Brax. “A relative?”

Brax nodded. “She’s a Lungbarrow, yes. Orphaned in the Time War.”

“Is that pity I hear in y-” Missy broke off, coughing violently. “I-”

She writhed, body consumed by golden tendrils. They swirled around her body, consuming her alive, features dissolving into an indistinct mist of artron. When the light dissipated, it was a very different person staring up at Brax.

* * *

The new Master blinked, before falling back into a coughing fit. They choked on the dusty air in the barn, sinking to the floor, before fainting.

“Brax, are they okay?” Amira asked.

“I don’t think Koschei Oakdown can ever be described as _okay,_ ” Brax said, “but safe to say that no, they are not. Come on, girl. We should get some medical help.”

* * *

“What... happened to this place? I thought the Doctor... thought they, they, thought they saved it.”

The Master spoke slowly and unevenly, still unused to their - his? Oh, so they were a he now, were they? - new vocal chords. Odd. More Northern, this time. And deeper. He was kind of enjoying the whole dresses thing, maybe he’d keep them this time round.

He winced. The corset could go, though. Maybe just the boots would stay, given how ripped and torn everything else was. “Brax,” he hissed, “where-”

”I’m right next to you.”

Thank the gods, he was still there. The Master was grateful, not that he’d ever admit to it. Fuck, apparently emotions were a thing this time round. He sat up gingerly, bones still aching. “So what... happened?”

”Gallifrey was preserved. But you know full well that we crawled out of that war on our hands and knees. We were saved from destruction at the Doctor’s hand maybe, but not the effects of the Time War. Besides, most people just weren’t prepared for this crisis. A lot of us died.”

“So where are we?”

“My bunker. The Citadel is abandoned now.”

He groaned. “Never did like that place.”

“Far too stuffy for the likes of you, then?”

The Master buried his face in his hands. “I hate Gallifrey. All of it,” he said, voice somewhat muffled.

Brax stood up, moving to leave. “And yet here you are.”

“How poetic, I appear to have come full circle at last.” The Master lay back down again. He was too weak to attempt an escape right now.

* * *

“You may go where you like, as long as you condone yourself to the Citadel. Perhaps a roomier prison than most.”

The Master snorted.

“Oh, and if you want a change of clothes, there are plenty of wardrobes around here.”

Brax walked out calmly, leaving the Master to his own devices. He hummed to himself idly, sifting through the layers of aged ceremonial robes that still sat there. Nothing of interest. He burrowed around some more, and found a somewhat bearable longcoat sitting amongst the miserable clothes Gallifreyans called fashion.

If he cut off the collar, found a shirt, and turned his old dress into some trousers, he might be able to look less like an idiot.

* * *

Brax was right. It _was_ a larger - and loftier - jail. Grand marble columns, great arches untouched by the Daleks, and the occasional pile of rubble and bodies. He made his way through the great libraries, cleaned and cleared the Citadel, ransacked rooms for anything at all valuable.

Then, one day, he reached the Matrix. Oh, it was damaged - gaping holes in its database, though whether they were intentional or accidental was almost impossible to say. It was like trying to navigate with a map that had been clawed by a cat, thrown in the washing and then set on fire. That is to say, it was a mess.

Still, when you were as skilled as the Master, that wasn’t really a problem. He traveled through the Matrix leisurely, enjoying a nice cruise. There wasn’t really much else to do.

Then he hit... something. A piece of information which didn't make any sense. He teased it out from the web of data, tumbling through factoids with expertise. It slotted in so neatly when he found its source -

But the information was horrifying.

* * *

Brax waved at him. “Hello again. Good day?”

Weeks, months even, he’d been here. Trying so _desperately_ to be good, and it had almost worked. The key word being almost. He’d suffered through Brax’s snide remarks, the annoying little girl who sometimes visited with him, and countless traps left behind from paranoid Time Lords.

Then the Matrix happened. He was _seething. “_ How dare they, Brax. How _fucking_ dare they?”

Brax tilted his head to the side. “How dare who what?” he asked, caught off guard. The surprise on his face might have been enjoyable if he wasn’t fighting the urge to -

To -

Punch someone? Throw up? Run away? So many conflicting urges, and that underlying _anger._ Oh, it was blinding him for sure, but it was so much easier than facing the truth. “Brax-”

Brax paused. “Are you alright?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. And indeed, when the Master hissed a furious ”No!” at him, he was hardly shocked.

The question was, would he stay or would he go?

* * *

The Mastwr returned, at least for now. But he was brittle and snappy. Ready to jump at anything Brax said. “Calm _down,_ ” Brax told him. “Yelling won’t help anyone.”

The Master sneered. “Your precious friends told you that, huh? I can’t see you actually giving helpful advice. Was it the Romana one? You know, the President fool.”

“Don’t you _dare_ talk about them like that. My... acquaintances... were good people. And if you insult Romana like that I’ll shoot you dead.”

He sniffed. “Oh, are you bitter about them? Did they leave you?”

“No, you twisted piece of _shit._ They died, Master. All of them. They _died!_ And if you mock them again, gods help you. You, at least, kept your precious Doctor.”

“Oh, oh. The Doctor. You think they got out fine? You must have missed a memo. And besides, even if they hadn’t been beaten up by the Time War, so what? They were tortured and abused and _murdered_ to build Gallifrey! This society is built on your brother’s pain and suffering! Their blood, their sacrifices. So you _shut the hell up,_ you idiot. You know nothing of loss and pain!”

Brax staggered back. “What? When did they-”

“Wh-what did I - oh gods, I’ve said too much. Oh gods, fuck, help me-”

Brax spun around and left. “Not a chance, you monster.”

* * *

Therw was no other way out. “I’ll burn everything. Nuke it. Destroy it. You know I would.”

“Master-”

“Look at you, saying my name. I’m no great person, but you, you are _worthless._ You are worth less than dirt. I will crush you, crush _everyone_ under my heel. And I will _love_ it.”

Brax shivered. “Stop, calm down. You wouldn’t, you’ve changed...”

“In a perfect, idyllic world? Yes. Yes, I would have. But this is not! This is REALITY! Face it, Brax. I’m going to kill you.”

He stumbled away from the Master. “So what if you do? It won’t change anything.”

“No, it won’t.” He grinned. “But it’ll be _so. Much. Fun._ ”

Brax backed against the wall. “Say your goodbyes,” the Master hissed. “Time’s UP!”

He did it. In that moment, reality came crashing down with all its fury. The Citadel went up in flames. Gallifrey fell once again. The Master’s twisted grin burnt itself into Brax’s mind, even as he died. He’d always feared death, but oh, this was so much _worse_ than he’d imagined.

Everything shattered.

* * *

Brax, along with the rest of the planet, was dead. Glassy eyes, body freezing, just a little too cold. He stared at the Master mindlessly, listlessly. The Master wandered around the ashes, dragging all the remaining bodies he could find into storage.

No point in letting them go to waste, eh? He laughed at that, briefly, before stopping dead. What was this? A twisted fantasy, gone too far? He could feel his sanity slipping through his fingers, like sand through an hourglass, going, going, gone.

“Stop judging me,” he muttered. “You’re dead.”

Regret was all he could find, and a horrible, numbing apathy. Coldness coursed through him, and the black tendrils of despair formed in his mind.

Depression. He sat there for too long, clawing at himself and hugging his knees, trying to avoid Brax’s cutting gaze.

“I’m not a monster,” he said. “Never a monster.”

But the misery of the Timeless Child and Brax’s haunted look cut through his hearts with ease, and bitterness deadened his mind.

Sticks and stones were far worse at breaking people than hatred and lies.


End file.
